Disappointments
by Red the Ordinary
Summary: A one-shot describing the relationship between Tuffnut and his seven year-old son, Rowan. Rowan is quickly learning, at a very young age, that no matter how hard he tries, he can never seem to please his father.


**A/N:** Rowan Thorston, Trippwit Terrible Haddock, and Skade Sigsteinn belong to me. Any questions, just ask.

* * *

"Daddy!" Rowan excitedly yelled as he threw open the door to his father's hut. In his hand were seven good-sized catches of Icelandic cod, strung on a cord. The boy grinned proudly as he held up the fish. "I caught them all myself! With my _hands_, Daddy… right outta the ocean!"

Tuffnut had nearly fallen asleep in a chair in front of the fire before Rowan burst into the house, and he turned to look at his seven year-old son with an annoyed scowl on his face.

"What did I say about slamming the door open like that?" he snapped. "It's rude. Either knock or open the door quietly."

Rowan scrunched his face and slowly closed the door behind himself, then kicked off his deer hide boots and made himself comfortable in front of the fire a few feet away from his father.

"Well, you burp and fart without saying 'excuse me', that's rude, too," he retorted as he took out a small dagger from his belt. He took one of the fish and started cutting off the head and tail.

Tuffnut growled at Rowan's cheeky remark. "Don't get smart with me, Rowan."

Rowan made a defiant frown. "I caught these fish for dinner, since you never make anything. You should thank me."

Normally, either Ruffnut or the twins' mother, Skade, had something made for dinner, since the twins still lived with her, but both had been gone most of the day. Ruffnut's two year-old son Trippwit had come down with a fever, and she and Skade had brought him to the village Healer to keep Rowan from getting it, too. Being the lazy son of a half-troll that he was, Tuffnut had nothing made for dinner by the time Rowan came home, so thankfully Rowan had caught those fish; they'd serve as dinner for father and son.

Tuffnut never said anything in response to Rowan. Instead he simply pushed himself out of his chair and meandered toward the kitchen area to fill his tankard with some more ale. Rowan looked up from his work for a moment to observe his father and the lethargic, careless way he carried himself. He recalled stories Snotlout had told him about all the crazy things he used to do with Tuffnut back when they were younger, and it made Rowan wonder whether his father had actually _been_ a child or not. There wasn't an ounce of youth in that haggardly shadow of a man.

Hiccup, on the other hand, was always willing to go exploring, or engage in a rowdy game of "dragons and Vikings" with Rowan. Even though the young man was missing a leg, he was always so spry and energetic, just as Rowan was. Tuffnut was a measly year older than Hiccup, and yet it appeared as though he had ten years on the Haddock heir.

However, Rowan, still young and naïve, was yet unfamiliar with the destructive properties of pressures like heartbreak and stress.

"Daddy," Rowan spoke up as Tuffnut lowered himself back into his chair. Tuffnut only grunted in reply. Rowan stuck a stake through the fish he'd cut up and held it over the fire to cook. "How come you never play with me like Hiccup does?"

Tuffnut sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "You're fine finding things to do on your own."

"Well, didn't you used to do things and play with _your_ daddy, when _you_ were little?" Rowan inquired, looking up at Tuffnut's stern face. The man heaved another sigh and rubbed his temple with his fingers.

"Rowan, I didn't even _have_ a father growing up," he indifferently replied. "He was banished from the tribe when I was a baby. So… to answer your question, I _never_ did things with my father when I was a kid."

Rowan was quiet for a few moments, thinking over what he'd been told. "But you had Auntie Ruff, and you had _her_ to play with. Did you guys used to play dragons and Vikings like Hiccup and I do?"

"Yeah, yeah… whatever," Tuffnut mumbled, proceeding to busy himself with taking a few large gulps of ale.

"So how come you never play with _me_, then?" Rowan further wondered. However, when Tuffnut shot his angry, squinted eyes down at him, Rowan almost wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Rowan," he harshly spat. Rowan held his breath and bit his lip, shrinking back a little. "I don't _do_ those stupid things. Hiccup can do what he wants and act like an idiot if he thinks it makes you happy, but I'm not gonna waste my time trying to please you." He waved a hand at the child. "Forget about supper. Go get ready for bed."

Rowan's face fell. "But I'm really hungry! I haven't eaten since–"

"I don't wanna hear it, get your ass upstairs," Tuffnut finally yelled, nearly coming up out of his seat. The tone of his voice alone, let alone the words that were spoken, was enough to send Rowan to his feet and up the stairs.

For ten minutes he sat silently on his bed, wiggling his toes as he listened to his father's heavy breathing. Soon enough, he heard the wooden chair downstairs whine as Tuffnut got up again, and the floorboards creaked loudly under his weight. Rowan couldn't help but mull over one of the last things his father had said to him, and the more he thought about it, the more upset he felt.

_Hiccup can do what he wants and act like an idiot if he thinks it makes you happy, but I'm not gonna waste my time trying to please you._

So, there was Rowan, trying _so_ hard to find favor in his father's eyes, continually working to please him; and yet, in return for all of that effort, Tuffnut was brushing it off his shoulders like dirt and refusing to give anything back to his son.

It didn't seem all that fair, in Rowan's eyes.

He eventually changed into some comfortable, oversized clothes for sleeping in and mustered up some courage to go back downstairs, hoping that he could sneak a piece of fish while Tuffnut was in the other room. Still in his stocking feet, he quietly walked down the stairs and slipped the fish from the fire without making a sound. He hurriedly shoved most of it in his mouth, then scanned the other room to see where Tuffnut was.

As he guessed, the man was slouched at the dinner table, gripping the handle of his tankard. Rowan frowned and bit his lip, then looked to his right at the wall where a small bookshelf sat. Most Viking tribes in the Inner Isles discouraged book reading, but most families kept a few volumes of the Norse sagas in their homes. Hiccup usually read a few tales to Rowan before bed, and at that moment Rowan decided he wanted to hear the story of Loki's cunning plan to disguise Thor as Freyja in order to retrieve his stolen hammer from the giant Thrym. He made his way to the bookshelf and pulled down the book that he was sure Hiccup usually read from, then tiptoed into the other room with the book in his hands.

Slowly, he stepped up to his father, and held up the book. Tuffnut eyed Rowan out of the corner of his eye.

"Bedtime story, Daddy?" Rowan quietly asked, placing the book on the table in front of Tuffnut. The man simply raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything for a long time.

"You actually expect me to _read_ to you?" he spat in disbelief, and Rowan's hopeful expression quickly dissolved into one of disappointment. "I told you to go to your room."

Rowan stood there for a few moments, staring into his father's angry, cloudy eyes. Maybe if he looked at him long enough with his big, eager eyes, he'd get his dad to give in.

"_Please?_" he pleaded. "Just _one_ story. The one about Thor's hammer."

"_No_, Rowan," Tuffnut growled. "Get in bed."

Rowan sighed in defeat and pulled the book off of the table, then turned around and trudged off to the loft. He tucked himself in bed and placed the book in his lap, then sifted through the pages until he landed upon what appeared to be the story he wanted to hear. He couldn't read very well, and he stumbled through the words trying to make sense of them.

It would have been easier just to hear it told to him.

Finally, he gave up and put the book on the floor by his bed. He blew out the candle on his bed stand, snuggled under the covers, and pulled them up to his chin as he closed his eyes and coaxed himself to fall asleep.


End file.
